I’ve wanted to be one of the boys forever, and sometimes I feel like I am one. I have boy days. I don’t flash friendly smiles, I don’t show off my jigglier body parts. I throw on a loose Cadence t-shirt and some cut off jean shorts that need a laundering, I get drunk on malt liquor half-sleeping in the sun in Humboldt Park, I jerk off to porn & take a blunt nap, I wake up and go to the bar and sneak in the men’s restroom because why do girls always take so long to pee, anyway?

I have my girl days, too, where I watch Earth Girls Are Easy and do my nails and sing elaborate parodies of 1960s girl group ballads to my dog. I mean, twenty percent of my wardrobe comes from the Target Little Girls section, and I read Japanese fashion magazines for teenage girls in the bathroom obsessively. I even had the cutest Hello Kitty Kawaii Town of all time.

….

There’s incredible diversity out there. It’s my favorite thing about the human race. There are people out there who were born intersex, or who were born with a brain that doesn’t match the sex of their body, people who choose to present themselves androgynously and fuck you very much if you want to know if they’re a boy or a girl. When we try to fit every person into a specific little blue or pink box, it discriminates against everyone who can never possibly fit in those little boxes, and everyone who doesn’t even want to.